


publicity stunts

by Trojie



Series: Bandom Bingo 2017 [5]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crack, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Secret Relationship, Tour Bus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 04:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10734201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: The record company thinks a few plausibly-deniable rumours about Gerard and Frank dating would be good PR, but of course, they're not contractually obligated to sleep together or anything. Ahahah.





	publicity stunts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadySmutterella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySmutterella/gifts).



> I don't even go here, this isn't from my usual trope stash, but it came up on my bingo card and when I wailed at LadySmutterella she came through in STYLE with this particular twist on it <333 
> 
> Also thank you to uglowian for handholding at the eleventh hour on the usual BUT WHAT DO I CALLLLL ITTTTTTT angst.
> 
> Extra pairing info for those who don't like surprises (<3) in the end notes.

'Wait, what?'

'It tested well with focus groups,' says their new PR person. Frank stares at her and her shiny, shiny all-access pass, looped around her neck on a pristine lanyard, and wonders where the fuck Warners got her. Presumably from under a rock, if this is the situational awareness level she has.

'Doesn't test well with the assholes who throw full beer cans at us when we fuck around on stage,' he says. 'Did Brian not explain the whole like, anti-homophobia schtick? I mean, that's kind of the main point. We don't do this for the record company.'

'It's not a joke,' Gerard adds, leaning forward with his serious interview face on. 'And it's not a PR stunt. We're trying to make a … like, a fucking point here, okay, we're trying to fight back against the toxic, heteronormative -'

Frank braces himself, because 'heteronormative' is the code word for Gerard getting his lecture on, but the PR lady - Mandy, her pass says, when he squints at it again - just cuts straight across him. Either she _was_ briefed, by someone with tactical understanding of the band and specifically Gerard, or she's just that plain rude. 

'It's about the bigger picture,' she says breezily. 'And it's not as if you'd be contractually obligated to sleep together!' Her little giggle sets Frank's teeth on edge, but he supposes she does kind of actually have to say that, given the fucking ridiculous situation she's proposing putting them in. 

Of course the fact that he and Gerard are boning on a like, semi-daily basis right now (tour-bus logistics allowing) doesn't put a crimp in the fact that this is _weird_. 

'So what do you want us to do, then?' Gerard asks, sitting back and tucking a strand of oily, inky-black hair behind his ear. 'Is this a coming-out to the editors of Guitar World kind of a deal?' He crosses his arms across his chest. There's a rant in there, definitely, that Frank hopes he aims both barrels of at Mandy, rather than storing it up for the bus later where it won't do any good but blow off steam Frank can think of much more fun ways to let out.

'Oh no, no, you don't need to do anything that drastic,' she says. 'I mean, how would it look if you came out as gay and then met someone?' The adjective 'female' silently follows 'someone' like a big neon sign, and out of the corner of his eye Frank can see Gerard take a deep breath.

Frank stares at Mandy, because he prefers to let Gerard do the ranting but he's proud of his cold judgemental stares. 'Okay so,' says Gerard very slowly, 'one, like, bisexuality and pansexuality are things that exist. And two, we've been kissing with tongue on stage in front of hundreds of people for a couple of years now, I think we're past 'coming out'.'

'I put my face in his crotch yesterday,' Frank adds helpfully, continuing the stare. 'And the day before.' Only one of those occasions was in public, but Mandy doesn't need to know that.

'Well of course that's none of my business, and I didn't mean to offend you,' says Mandy, deflating a little. 'But the company would like something a little more … family friendly?'

'Family frien-' Gerard is about to go fucking _thermonuclear_. Which would be entertaining, but Frank can see the shape of this now and he can see so many ways to screw with it and make the company regret ever asking for it that he can't let Gerard shut it down yet. Not only that, but … there's an opportunity here.

'Chill,' he says, putting his hand on Gerard's shoulder. 'She just wants us to pretend to date.'

'Exactly!' says Mandy, relief shining bright in her voice. Frank feels … mildly sorry for her. She probably wasn't the person who came up with this, and she almost certainly wouldn't have volunteered to be the one to talk to them about it, although probably she was expecting their displeasure to come from different reasons. 'A few dinners out where you can be seen, let a few rumours start - nothing we ever confirm or deny, of course, but it all fans the flames!'

***

The thing about Frank and Gerard screwing around on stage is, because they're doing it on stage everyone assumes it's a stunt. Just a stunt. And that it only happens on stage. They've been fucking around, and then actually fucking, and now, like, being whatever they are, for two years and not even Mikey's figured it out.

And that's good, in lots of ways, but Frank wants to take Gerard places and not have to second-guess every time he touches him in public because what's the level of PDA that's gonna tip people off? But putting a condom on a microphone with his mouth and letting Gerard hump his face in front of a festival crowd hasn't done more than get a couple of music mags to vaguely speculate that maybe possibly the girls of today are interested in the more equal-opportunities rockstar, so maybe it doesn't matter.

Even if he and Gerard were just strictly colleagues, that would piss Frank off. He blames Kiss. They spoiled stage makeup for everyone. How much pink fucking eyeliner does he need to wear before people will stop auto-assuming he's straight? 

On the other hand the reason they haven't just like, started officially seeing each other, is that … well, Gerard would yell at him for calling it the Yoko Factor, and Frank knows why, but bringing relationship drama into a band is a bad idea. Better to let it fly under the radar and if it implodes, it implodes, but they don't drag the band into it. Maybe they'd be weird and upset for a while, but that thing people do where they take sides in a breakup wouldn't happen, and Frank thinks - _knows_ \- he and Gerard are good enough friends underneath the fucking that they could weather it if they called it a day on that front.

But this. This is _perfect_. Frank's gonna date the shit out of Gerard and the boys will all think it's just because the record company told them to. Eventually the record company will presumably either tell them to have a horrendous public breakup or … tell them to get Vegas-married, Frank guesses, but they'll cross that bridge when they come to it. Vegas-married is Frank's line. He's not Vegas-marrying anyone, his mom would kill him. 

But dating he can do. Dating he will happily do. He's going to fake-real-fake-date Gerard so fucking hard. 

There better be a florist in this town.

***

'They can't do that, can they?' Ray looks concerned and Dad-face-y, like he's worried for Frank and Gerard's welfare. 'And they're not expecting us all to -'

'I'm not fake-dating Ray,' says Bob from the bunks. There's the frantic sound of a clacking keyboard which indicates that he's only half paying attention.

'I'll fake-date Ray,' says Mikey, yawning. 'I mean, if we're pairing off, I'm pretty sure Ray's a better fake date than Bob.'

'Depends,' says Frank, grinning at Ray, who's rolling his eyes. 'Ray's a gentleman, he'll probably pay for dinner, but I bet he doesn't put out.'

'I don't put out either,' Bob calls, as if this is an important enough issue to need him to take attention from his game. 'Not for Mikey.'

Frank raises an eyebrow at Gerard, fighting a smile. 'Would you put out for Ray?' he asks Bob, raising his voice to be heard over the frantic typing.

'Depends. Does he buy me dinner?'

'I love how you're all assuming that I put out,' says Mikey indignantly. 'And that I don't buy dinner.'

'You totally put out,' says Frank. 'Dude. I have literally fetched you from bathroom stalls so that we could leave town after shows.'

'He does buy people dinner though,' Gerard points out. 'I taught him that much, at least.' There's no mistaking the pride in his voice. He's always proud of Mikey, though, it's kind of cute, even when it's for things Frank's pretty sure you're not supposed to be proud of your little siblings for, like, being that fucking easy.

'If he'll buy me dinner he can practice not-putting-out on me too,' Ray offers. 'Mikey fixes his reputation and I get pizza. Everyone wins.'

'Deal,' says Mikey, and holds out his hand. They shake on it solemnly. Frank refrains from pointing out that with Mikey's track record, this deal would end in at least one if not both of them walking funny for a week. Thank god Warners aren't trying to actually get them all to pair off. Given what he's seen (and Frank's seen … more than he really wants to) Frank's not sure Ray's ready for the Mikey Way Experience. 

But they're not, so he stretches til his back pops and says, 'Looks like Bob's the one going stag to Fake Gay Prom, then.'

'I'm not going to Fake Gay Prom at all, I'm gonna hang around outside with a fifth of whiskey and sell pot to - mother _fucker_ -' More keyboard noises. Bob never actually finishes the sentence.

'It's not a big deal,' says Gerard, waving his hands. 'I mean, we'll make a show of it, but I bet no-one even notices. Two weeks of like, shitty fake dinner dates and we can go back to normal. Just play along til the label tells us we can knock it off, okay?'

Everyone agrees. Ray turns the TV on so they can play PlayStation, and Gerard meets Frank's eyes over Mikey's head. Stage One complete with no drama. 

***

Stage Two involves Frank yelling down mic three after the encore that Gerard's ass has someplace to be and hauling hauling him offstage by his collar. 

'Nice touch,' says Mikey, coming off stage right tonight and handing his jazz bass distractedly to Frank's tech, who rolls his eyes but takes it while waiting for Frank to disentangle himself from Pansy and the lead that's somehow looped three times through his strap. 'But you're still on stage. That's cheating.'

'Are you keeping score on us now?' Frank demands, pirouetting to free himself from the final coil and then realising he should have just unplugged his fucking lead, like he normally would have if he hadn't been distracted. The tech hands off Mikey's bass to Mikey's actual tech, who's ducked through from stage left, where Mikey was _supposed_ to come off, takes Pansy, and starts coiling Frank's lead back up. Frank grabs Mikey and doesn't let go of Gerard and drags them both out of the way of the hive of packdown activity. 

'I'm gonna make a sticker chart,' says Mikey. 'Nothing on stage counts.'

'I hate you,' says Frank reflexively. 'Wait, since when do you get to set the rules?'

'Since I already wrote them all up. I'm putting the chart on the fridge,' Mikey says, blinking at Frank serenely. 'Now go show my brother a good time and earn some points.'

'But we're -'

Gerard is half chugging a bottle of water and half just like, straight-up pouring it over his head. There are unknowable, mysterious stains down his shirt, his tie is only still recognisable as a tie because it's mostly around his neck, and Frank knows he's not much better. Part of him is protesting that he wants to at least be clean on a date, but … this is Gerard. He has at least had a shower sometime this week. And this is absolutely a million miles from the worst state he's ever seen Frank in. 

They lock eyes. Frank's breath catches the way it always does, it's just normally he's better at hiding it.

'You've got three hours before the bus leaves,' Mikey adds.

'Fine,' he says. Gerard's hand is soaking wet and cold when Frank takes it. 'C'mon, Gee, looks like we have a date.'

'I only award the actual gold stars for paparazzi photos of you fucking in alleyways,' Mikey calls after them. Just before they're out of earshot Frank thinks he hears Ray call Mikey a weirdo.

***

'Oh my god I am never taking advice from Cortez again,' Gerard's saying, wiping tears from his eyes. 'That was the worst thing I - are you serious?'

'Totally his idea,' Frank confirms. 'Hey, you want another coffee?'

Of course Gerard wants another coffee. So they get another refill, and a slice of pie to share, and when Frank finally notices the diner staff pointedly sweeping the floor around them, he realises it's probably time to go. They've done their time, they can get back to the bus. But …

And then every plan he had about playing hooky some more and sneaking Gerard off to somewhere that stays open later dies in the back of his throat when he sees the kids huddled at the side of the street. They've been doing this long enough now that he recognises the looks on their faces and the way they both do and don't quite make eye contact. 'C'mon,' he says, fumbling in his pockets and nudging Gerard. 'You brought a Sharpie, right?'

The fans are fucking great. Their fans tend to be fucking great, or at least, the ones who want to meet them enough to stay up til ass o'clock outside a diner but at the same time won't like, barge into said diner and hassle them. Frank signs everything they stick under his nose, including limbs, backs, t-shirts. He's peripherally aware of camera flashes going off occasionally, mostly the shitty kind that phones have. That's fine. He's used to it now. Gerard's already posing for pictures with the ones brave enough to ask. 

Someone asks for a picture with Frank as well, and Gerard grabs him, puts his arm around Frank's waist. Frank's arm around the fan nearly turns into an accidental headlock because Gerard slips his fingers into Frank's back pocket and squeezes his ass. 

'What?' he asks, drawing out the word, when Frank raises an eyebrow at him. But they can't like, talk about it here, so Frank just pokes his tongue out at him and spins around to do another photo op. 

By the time they stumble back to the bus, Frank's phone has been blowing the fuck up with _where are you guys_ and _we're supposed to be on the road_ for twenty minutes and Gerard's pocket is vibrating in a way that suggests he's probably getting the exact same messages. They basically fall through the door, out of breath, stumble up the three steps and into the middle of Ray, Mikey and Bob. 

'What time do you call this then?' Bob asks, arms folded. Frank was expecting this. It's too much to hope that their band will let them fake-date in peace, no, it's gonna be a fucking comedy act every time they come back from somewhere. 

'Fuck off, Mom,' says Frank, poking his tongue out at Bob. 

'I knew he was a bad influence on our little Gerard,' says Ray, but he doesn't have a poker face worth a damn. Bob rolls his eyes and punches him lightly in the shoulder.

'Oh yeah, because I was such a good girl before,' says Gerard, pushing the hair out of his eyes. 'Sunday School and fucking everything. Sang hymns in the choir in my pigtails and best dress.'

Frank has a brief mental image of Gerard singing hymns in a church choir. It's kind of distracting. Gerard and church imagery tends to be. Gerard and dresses even more so.

'Did you get a gold star?' Mikey asks Gerard. Gerard pouts exaggeratedly. 

'No, cos apparently Frank doesn't put out on the first date either. This band is full of prudes and Puritans, Mikey. It's a goddamn fucking tragedy.'

'Shame,' Mikey agrees. 'So that's only one sticker for you guys tonight then.' He wanders through to the kitchenette, with Gerard in tow. Bob's already gone through to start getting ready for bed.

Frank flops onto the sofa next to Ray. 'Sorry we took so long,' he says. 'but when we got out after eating there was a welcoming committee, you know how it is.'

Underneath them, the bus engine is starting up. Ray yawns and starts casting around to grab his shit, to migrate to bed. 'No problem, dude. We're not running that late, it'll be okay. Good date, though?' 

Those are fucking weird words to hear out of Ray's mouth so casually, but damn if Frank doesn't kinda like it. 'Yeah,' he says, without thinking. 'I mean, food was good. Kinda sucks you guys had to stay behind.' 

Ray ruffles Frank's hair and side-hugs him. 'You can't fake-date us all, Frankie. I don't think Warners are ready for polyamory.'

'I didn't mean it like that,' Frank says into his shoulder. 'Asshole. But you're right, they're totally not.'

Ray yawns, muscles going rigid and then relaxing again under Frank's cheek. 'Alright Romeo, I'm going to bed. Try not to stay up all night writing shit poetry for your blog.'

Frank punches him in the bicep. It's like punching granite. 'Quit it, dude, seriously. I know it's funny, but it's not actually real.'

It is real. It's so fucking real Frank's a little scared by how much he wishes the others knew that. He hates keeping secrets from his boys.

Ray rolls his eyes and messes Frank's hair _again_. 'Sorry, Frankie, but you wouldn't show me any mercy if it was me the record company were whoring out for publicity. Also did I say the shit poetry was gonna be about Gerard?'

Frank shakes his head. 'No. Fuck you. I'm gonna go to bed.'

They move around each other and around the rest of the guys easy, the way you do when you've been sharing a shoebox with one toilet for a year or two. Frank clambers into his bunk and shimmies his jeans off in favour of some soft sleep pants, forgoes the shirt because it's hot tonight, punches his pillow a few times, and waits for the noises of the others to lull him into sleep. 

His phone goes off just before he finally dozes. _i'm sorry frank. I like your poems really_ says RAY MOTHERFUCKING TORO!!! (Gerard put Ray's number in Frank's phone years ago and he's never changed it). 

Frank grins into his pillow until he drifts off.

***

The photo of Gerard with his hand tight on Frank's ass isn't exactly 'all over' the internet the next morning, they're not that big, but it got pretty far in twenty four hours and they both get the same encouraging email from Mandy. 

Of course, that's later, when they find a place to check their email. Frank actually finds out about the picture because when he comes stumbling out of bed to put the coffee on, the sticker chart on the fridge catches his eye and there's definitely more colour on it than there was last night. 

'Mmmf,' says Mikey, ricocheting off the fridge gently as he bumps through from the bunks without his glasses on, in only a pair of tighty-whities that are so old they're really more like saggy greys now, phone clutched tight in his hand. 'C'ffee?'

'Did you like, update this at two am?' Frank asks, peering at the chart and leaving Mikey to get his own damn coffee. 

Mikey waves his phone. 'Pete,' he says succinctly. He peels one eye open. 'You're really taking this seriously, huh?'

'Hey, it's Warners, y'know,' says Frank, waving his hands as casually as he can. 'They say jump, I say -'

'Sure I'll let Gerard molest me in public?' Mikey finishes for him, flipping his phone open and showing Frank the screen. There's a blurry picture that's clearly been snapped of a computer screen, but … yeah that's not 'oh dear Gerard had his arm around Frank's waist and it slipped a bit', that's 'Gerard is squeezing Frank's ass in a sexytimes-promising way'. 

There were no sexytimes. It's a fucking tragedy.

'A bit of grab-ass isn't molestation,' Frank protests. 'You've fucking seen him rub his dick all over my face. A couple of thousand people have seen that.'

'Whatever,' says Mikey, face already halfway into his mug. 'All I'm doing is keeping score, Frankie. What goes on between two consenting record-company-employees is totally none of my business.'

Frank narrows his eyes at Mikey. Mikey, or at least the bits of Mikey that aren't directly involved in the inhalation of caffeine, gives Frank back his very best innocent look, including full eyelash use, which is unfair when you have as much eyelash as Mikeyfuckingway does and should be banned by Geneva convention. 

'We're just playing it up for the PR, like they told us to,' Frank finally says. 'It's no fucking different to the shit we do on stage, okay?'

Mikey shrugs one-shouldered at him, still clearly smiling behind his mug. Which is when his phone goes off a second time and he just blinks at it, then turns and fishes what Frank realises is a sheet of stickers off the top of the fridge, and very carefully puts another one on the chart. 

'Your flat little butt is all over MySpace,' he says, and disappears back to his bunk. 

'Pete Wentz doesn't count as research, I don't care how hard you're doing him,' Frank says at Mikey's back, which is unfair because that was last summer and God knows there's been a lot of water under the bridge since then, but still. Mikey twists enough to extend an arm backwards and give Frank the finger.

The coffee machine gurgles, and Frank glares at it. It's halfway through filling a mug when Gerard shuffles out, wrapped in a blanket. 'Dude, you need to chill,' he says quietly. 

'I'm chill,' says Frank, contrary to all evidence. 'Fucking c'mon,' he says to the coffee machine.

Gerard presses a soft kiss to the spot behind Frank's ear that always makes him shiver. 'You're overthinking this,' he says. 'C'mon, Frankie. Just roll with it.'

Frank takes a deep breath. 'Okay,' he says. 'Okay. Sorry, I just hate … it feels like lying, okay? It's making me feel shitty, that's all.'

'No-one's lying,' Gerard says easily, but his eyes are knowing. 'We're just … being creative with the truth, right?'

Frank's mug is finally full. He pulls it away and lets Gerard shuffle in. 'Yeah, I guess.'

Gerard sneaks a glance back to the bunks and then kisses him again, on the mouth this time, a bare split second of kiss but somehow he packs a lot in there, he always does. 'It'll be okay,' he says. 

Frank turns in towards Gerard's warmth, curls against him as much as he can with the blanket and the coffee between them. 'I wish it was real,' he say softly.

'It is real,' says Gerard back, barely above a murmur. 

'But they think it isn't. And I just -' Frank shrugs. 'You know.'

'We talked about this,' Gerard. Before he can go on, Mikey shuffles back out again, this time with his glasses on and actually dressed, and that kills any kind of conversation. Frank freezes mid-attempt to pull away, too, because it's not like he wouldn't be plastered up against Gerard regardless of dating status, regardless of anything else. 

Mikey keeps going. There's the unmistakeable sound of him flopping over on a sofa and opening his phone. 

'Hotel night tomorrow,' says Gerard quietly. He wraps both of his hands around his coffee, and Frank does the same, because it keeps those hands off Gerard's hips where his sleep shirt is riding up and his blanket is falling down. There are more noises out in the bunks already - the coffee smell must have percolated through. Hands on coffee is safest. 

'You're sharing with Mikey,' Frank points out. 'You always share with Mikey.' They did used to switch it up more, but … that got dangerous fast. It's not like anyone's that good at knocking, and Brian still insists on the "spare keycard policy" for emergencies, which they all tend to interpret liberally as including things like borrowing each other's makeup remover and outright clean-shirt piracy. 

Gerard sighs. 'I know. But I can maybe get him to go on a Starbucks run in the morning?'

Mikey's the best of the lot of them at stealth if he goes on his own somewhere, he's got the highest success rate at not getting mobbed. If there's a Starbucks within walking distance, he's definitely the sensible one to send. It also buys Gerard forty minutes alone in his room. 

Frank smiles secretly up at him from under his fringe, which is getting long again. 'Worth a shot.'

There _is_ a florist in this town, it turns out when they get off the bus to forage for breakfast. Frank presents Gerard with a single red rose on stage just to watch Mikey get frustrated with how it 'doesn't count', and Ray accompanies the gesture with a pretty little Spanish-guitar style interlude that would probably have sounded even prettier if he hadn't been tuned down half a step at the time and distorted all to hell.

Frank also makes a point of curling his body into Gerard's in every photo they take together out the back of the stage door that night, and okay it's a pose, and it's mostly for the record company, but … Gerard's right. This _is_ real, the way Frank feels about him. Regardless of if it can ever be out and acknowledged and public, it's real, and Frank should make the most of opportunities like this while he has them.

***

Frank takes Gerard out for breakfast (it's before lunch, so it still counts as breakfast. Frank's pretty sure, anyway) and makes a point of holding his hand all the way from the bus to the cafe around the corner. He also makes a point of finding them a table near the big plate-glass windows, and touching Gerard's hand on the tabletop. 

Gerard smirks at him from behind his hair, but he plays along. Scratch that, he plays _up_ \- he turns his hand over palm-up so he can tangle his fingers with Frank's, he fucking giggles and tucks his hair behind his ears and under the table he starts stroking his foot up and down Frank's calf muscle. 

They're both making a goddamn performance out of it but it's fun, okay? It's fun watching Gerard just be himself in public, instead of constantly on guard. And it's fun to be able to react to him without second-guessing how it looks all the time. It's like the record company suddenly lengthened a leash Frank didn't know they were on. 

They pay up and head out and Frank's pretty sure they've been recognised by at least five people on the street, which is when Gerard tugs him close and presses a sweet little kiss to the corner of his mouth, right outside in broad fucking daylight. Frank blushes, he can feel it burn his cheeks. Inside his shoes, his toes curl. 

He really fucking wishes that this could just … be normal. Be how they are together, instead of clandestine handjobs and stage-makeouts. 

But when he gets back on the bus there's another sticker on the chart to prove that they're only allowed to do this for the reaction it's getting. 

***

Brian sorts them out their keycards as usual when they finally make it to the hotel. Frank is in with Ray, Bob's got the single room this time, the lucky fucker, and Gerard is rooming with Mikey. 

Except Mikey waves his keycard at Frank. 'Wanna swap?' he asks teasingly. 

'It's like you're five fucking years old,' says Gerard longsufferingly, shoving Mikey towards their door. 'Whose room are we doing pizza in?'

'Whose do you think?' Frank asks, because they always do pizza in whichever room is biggest and not inhabited by Ways and their ability to completely fill any given space with an explosion of gross underwear and eyeshadow in the space of ten minutes. 'I'm fucking sick of pizza,' he adds, but it falls on deaf ears, because his band is obsessed with pizza to a degree Frank thinks is probably pathological. 

He goes to have a shower, and tries not to think about how he probably could actually have called Mikey's bluff and swapped keycards. How he could be sharing this bathroom with Gerard's nine-million pocket organiser suitcase right now. How he could be sharing this _shower_ with Gerard right now - except a) that's a pipe-dream Frank's been trying to persuade Gerard into for nearly a year with no success and b) they'd still have to front up for dinner, they'd still have to do all the normal things, they'd still be sharing a goddamn wall with a room containing Gerard's little brother …

When he gets out, the pizza is already spread all over the floor, and he sighs, already hunting out the one with no goddamn cheese on it, when Gerard proudly hands him a paper plate full of garlic bread, the good kind, all crusty and oozing, and Frank's heart kind of … 

… well let's just say it's a good thing he has a paper plate full of garlic bread in his hands because it stops him from grabbing Gerard and kissing him on the mouth in front of God and their entire band and the pizza boy Frank has only just realised is still there because Ray's busy yanking money from various people's jackets to tip him with. 

'Opportunity to earn more points right here,' says Mikey into his ear. Frank jerks and nearly flings garlic bread all over the room. 

'You're like a fucking ninja,' he says accusingly. 

'Ten points if you grab Gee's ass in front of the pizza boy,' Mikey retorts. 'Unless you're too chickenshit, Frankie?'

Frank's almost considering it, but then Ray does actually manage to fairly compensate the pizza boy for his time and effort, and he leaves before he can be scarred for life by rockstar shenanigans. 

'You're evil,' Frank informs Mikey. Mikey just looks at him and turns away to grab some pizza. 

'And you're chickenshit,' Mikey repeats. 'Like, seriously, is my brother not a hot enough piece of ass for you, Iero? You getting picky in your old age?'

Frank squints at him. There's something - okay, jokes aside, there's something weird about the way Mikey's being about this stupid fake-dating thing, and he isn't even involved. Maybe he's got a bet going with Wentz, that would be about right. Or maybe he's being a pain in the ass in retaliation for all the times Frank's given him shit about his love life, who knows. Whatever. It's fucking … it needs defusing, or Frank's gonna say something he regrets. 

'Oookay I think Mikey's maybe a little too invested in this whole thing,' Frank says to Gerard, over Mikey's head. He waggles his eyebrows. 'Mikey, dude, do _you_ want to be dating your brother?'

'Ew,' says Mikey. His face is an amazing picture that Frank will treasure the memory of for the entire rest of his life. 'No. I just -'

'Fuck's sake,' says Bob from across the room. 'I can't take all this stupid fucking dancing around any more. We know, okay? We all know.'

'You all know what?' Gerard asks, around a mouthful of pizza. 

Frank can feel all the blood draining from his face, though, because he knows what Bob knows. 'We just -' he starts. 'I mean, we were going to -'

Bob shakes his head fondly. 'It makes sense why you kept it on the downlow,' he says. 'But like, we fucking share a bus with you. No-one's that stealth.'

Frank looks around helplessly. Mikey smirks at him and then rolls his eyes, so Frank turns to Ray. Ray won't fuck with him. Ray will be straight-up. 

Ray shrugs and pats Frank's shoulder soothingly. 'It's okay, dude. Seriously. If we had a problem with it, we would have said something.'

Gerard is still trying to front like he's confused. 'A problem with what?' he asks, looking wide-eyed and innocent and with a smear of red at the corner of his mouth that makes Frank question his life choices and at the same time be kind of awed, because what kind of person is that fucking beautiful even with their face covered in pizza sauce? 

'You didn't have to keep it a secret, y'know,' says Mikey to Gerard, a little softly.

Gerard deflates. 'We didn't want any drama,' he says, which is true, but hearing those words come out of Gerard Way's fucking diva mouth almost makes Frank start giggling. He shoves the urge down because he knows if he starts now he won't stop.

'Neither did we,' says Ray, 'which is why we didn't say anything either. Except now Warners are like, using you for the scandal, which is un-fucking-cool.' He tucks his hair behind his ears and looks stern, or, well, as stern as Ray can. 

Mikey plops himself down next to Gerard and looks pissy, which is an expression he's good at. 'Fuck them, seriously.'

'Sideways, with a pinecone,' Bob agrees. 

'The worst fucking part,' says Gerard, leaning into Mikey, 'is that they don't even like - they just want a titillating little rumour. You know for a fact that if we did like, announce our amazing dude-on-dude love story to the press or whatever, they'd fucking run a mile.'

'Maybe you should,' says Ray mulishly. Frank squints at him. 'What? Gee's right, it's screwed up and gross, they don't really want you to be dating but they want to yank people's chains about it. I hate that shit, man, and I hate it more when it's my friends they're dicking with.'

'Doesn't matter,' says Bob, kicking his heels against Frank's mattress. 'Anything Frank and Gerard do's gonna be labelled a stunt, you know that. At this point they could fuck on stage and all it'd do is get another round of speculation about the theme of the next album.'

Frank's gotta admit, he's got a point. 'I guess if anyone was gonna accuse us of being an item it would have happened by now,' he says. 

'And really I think most of the people you've pissed off are more worried about the Satanism thing than the homosexuality,' says Mikey. 'And the ones who don't believe you're evil probably don't believe you're gay either, for like, the exact same reasons.' Frank isn't quite sure he follows Mikey's logic the whole way through, but … yeah, he's got a point, too.

'Why does no-one ever take us seriously?' Gerard asks, with a pout that could have won a Miss America pageant. 

Frank refrains from pointing out that he's got food on his face, hair so greasy it stands up by itself, and his tie's somehow inside out. 'Whatever,' he says. 'The important point here is that these fuckers -' he gestures around the room, '- aren't about to disown us. And the more important point is that we're totally swapping rooms now, Mikey.'

He fishes his keycard out of his pocket and flourishes it at Mikey, who makes another face that Frank will cherish the memory of until he's old and grey. 'This is not a free pass to be loud,' Mikey says repressively, but he does hand over his card. 'Don't think I won't come in there and kill you both if I can't sleep because you're having loud sex.'

'Buy Gerard a ball-gag, got it,' says Frank cheerfully, and ducks when Mikey half-heartedly tries to punch him. 

They stick around and they finish the pizza, and they kick around half-hearted ideas for getting their petty own back against Warners, but nothing sticks and Ray just looks semi-murderous the longer it goes on, because he's not-very-secretly a crusading PTA mom under all the hair, so they let it go. 

When it gets to be time to hit the sack, Gerard wraps his fingers around Frank's wrist and barely lets Frank have time to snag his bag before he pulls him out of the room. They don't need to find an excuse. They don't need to leave five minutes apart so it doesn't look suspicious. 

'Condoms!' Bob yells at them as the door closes behind them.

Frank's so fucking happy his heart could burst.

'What?' Gerard asks when Frank's grinning into his neck as he tries for the third time to get his keycard into the door. 

'Nothing,' says Frank. The door beeps and finally opens - they nearly fall through it in shock. 'Just. It's real, y'know?'

'It was real all along, dickbrain,' says Gerard, but he pulls Frank close and kisses him in the doorway where anyone could see.

***

Three mornings later, on the bus, Mikey wanders through to the lounge and drops his phone into Frank's lap. There's a photo open on the screen, and Frank picks it up and squints. A second later, Gerard's head butts up against his shoulder as he leans in to look too. 

At first Frank can't quite take it in. It's clearly a shot of a computer screen; a news article with a headline he can't make out, and a picture. Two figures, two guys - oh Jesus. 

Frank looks up at Ray, who's noodling away at an acoustic guitar and going bright red. 'Dude.'

'It's not a stunt,' Ray says quietly, still not looking up from his fretboard. 'Just like it was never a stunt for you two. We just. Someone needed to make a point, okay.'

'Oh my god, my eyes,' says Gerard, stunned and flat. 'Michael James Way, you _didn't_.'

Mikey swallows the last of his coffee, and smirks. 'I want my motherfucking gold star.'

**Author's Note:**

> Contains background/twist-ending Mikey/Ray - nothing explicit.


End file.
